


you could give an aspirin the headache of its life

by oopshidaisy



Category: It's Always Sunny in Philadelphia
Genre: 5+1 Things, Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Coming Out, Episode Related, Episode: s10e06 The Gang Misses the Boat, Episode: s11e09 The Gang Goes to Hell, Episode: s12e06 Hero or Hate Crime?, Episode: s8e9 The Gang Dines Out, Explicit Sexual Content, Internalized Homophobia, M/M, Mental Health Issues, Recreational Drug Use, Religious Guilt, Truth or Dare, all that good stuff, canon is both a crutch and something i throw under the bus, dennis being in denial about his feelings, many gratuitous references to my favourite movies
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-23
Updated: 2018-07-23
Packaged: 2019-06-15 04:45:20
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,868
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15405264
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/oopshidaisy/pseuds/oopshidaisy
Summary: 5 times Mac came out and took it back & 1 time he came out for real





	you could give an aspirin the headache of its life

**Author's Note:**

> credit where credit’s due, this was partially inspired by the netflix original movie 'game over, man!' where there’s a [spoiler] gay character who comes out to his friends and then they just go, “dude, you come out to us every single time you get drunk and then forget about it in the morning.” this is my first time attempting a 5+1 times fic, and parts of it got way too long bc [passion pit voice] i get carried away  
> title from ‘turn’ by the wombats

i.

In general, Dennis felt like he didn’t get nearly enough credit for how often he kept his frustration at bay. Sure, there were some outbursts – but that was understandable, given the morons he was forced to interact with on a daily basis. He _definitely_ deserved more credit for how he was dealing with the whole Mac thing.

He’d known Mac was gay since they were teenagers. He knew it in the way that he knew that _Fight Club_ was the greatest film of all time, that bananas should never be eaten in public, and that Dee was a bitch. It was constant – almost reassuring. Mac never said it out loud, and that was comforting too. They never had to talk about the big rainbow elephant in the room, and Dennis could live with Mac securely in his orbit. Sometimes he could even take advantage of it, controlling Mac with a soft touch to the face or neck. He hadn’t yet collected enough evidence to definitively declare that Mac was attracted to him, because Mac would do something like try to kiss him while covered in garbage and then the next day he’d make a derisive comment about how weird and pointy Dennis was, and all in all it was hard to collate Mac’s mood swings into usable evidence. But, he thought, most of the time: probably. Mac was attracted to him, probably.

Everything was fine until Mac started _saying it out loud_.

The first time it happened, they were both shitfaced. Mac’s head was lolling on the table of one of the booths, and he was muttering about how cool the wood was against his cheek like it was the most important thing in the goddamn universe.

“I like being drunk,” he said. “Makes everything seem, like, clearer. Y’know, like.”

“Like what?” Dennis asked. He was barely listening, twisting his beer bottle around his fingers.

“Like being a sinner, I guess.”

“Uh, yeah, we’re all sinners, I’m pretty sure that’s the point.” Not wanting to get drawn into another religious debate, Dennis levered himself out of the seat and headed towards the bar for another drink.

“I’m gay,” Mac said, the most miserable Dennis had ever heard him.

It sent a shock through his body, and he only just managed to grit out, “ _What_?”

“Yeah, I’m like…really fucking gay, dude. ‘nd it totally sucks. I don’t wanna be.”

Dennis couldn’t decide whether he was too sober or too drunk for this conversation. Maybe both. He grabbed a bottle of flavoured vodka from behind the bar and brought two shot glasses along with it to the table.

“You know none of us think it’s a bad thing, right?” he said, pouring two measures of the vodka out.

“God does,” Mac insisted.

Dennis downed his shot – cherry-flavoured, nice – to avoid answering that straight away. “I don’t know what God thinks, dude,” he settled on eventually. “But eventually you’re gonna have to just start living, like, autheticanlly. Wait, that’s not right. Au-then-tic-ally. Shit, that’s a hard word to say.”

Mac ignored his shot in favour of grabbing the bottle and taking a few long gulps from it. Dennis winced just watching him.

“You’re gonna regret that tomorrow,” he commented.

Mac shrugged. “I like being drunk.”

When he was retching into the toilet back at their apartment, an hour later, he was considerably less enthused about the virtues of alcohol. Dennis was trying not to smile at the sight he made, sprawled out against the tiles with his head slumped on the toilet bowl, still faintly green.

“Stop laughing at me,” Mac groaned.

“I’m not!”

“No, you’re doing it in your head, like. I can tell.”

Dennis bit down on the inside of his cheek. “Okay, fine, it’s not funny, you’re pathetic and miserable, bro. But you’ve finally admitted you’re gay, so there’s that, you know, on the bright side.”

“That’s not a bright side,” Mac muttered darkly.

Sighing, Dennis sat down by the sink. “Look, Mac, I’ve never told you this because I know you’d get weird and religious and freak out on me, but I’ve been with dudes before. Do you think _I’m_ going to hell?”

Mac raised his head. “Dennis,” he said, very seriously, “of _course_ you’re going to hell.”

“ _What_.”

“You’re a blasphemer, you’re vain, you’re all filled with wrath and shit, and _you don’t believe in God_. That one’s kind of a requirement for heavenly entry,” Mac said.

“Okay, fine, yeah,” Dennis conceded. He just wanted to go to bed, but he was going to win this argument if it killed him. “But of all those things, banging dudes couldn’t possibly be the _worst_ , right? You know, it’s probably not even in the top ten of things God doesn’t like about me.”

He watched Mac consider this. “I dunno,” he said eventually. “How many dudes have you banged?”

Dennis slammed his head against the wall, rather hard.

*

The next morning, they woke up in Dennis’ bed. Dennis remembered Mac’s whining about how he couldn’t possibly traverse the endless space between the bathroom and his own bedroom, instead taking it upon himself to flop down on the right side of Dennis’ bed. With the cold grey light of morning filtering in, he could see that Mac was drooling into the pillow, hair mussed and jeans still on. He looked like a mess. Dennis was resisting the urge to run his fingers through his hair.

To avoid the temptation, he extricated himself and fled to the kitchen. There was a nasty hangover brewing behind his eyes and his mouth tasted like shit, so he chased two Tylenol down with a gulp from an open can of lukewarm beer. “Dammit, Mac,” he muttered to himself, starting to brew some coffee.

They were at opposite ends of the spectrum when it came to hangovers. A night of hard drinking always meant Dennis woke up early (a glance at his phone told him it was just before seven), whereas Mac, left to his own devices, was sure to stay asleep until mid-afternoon. The only problem was that this time, Dennis knew they were going to have to have a _conversation_ , and he didn’t want to have to wait ten hours to have it. He quickly ran through a list of options. He could shake Mac awake or pour cold water on him, which was sure to get him punched; he could blast some of the loud, annoying rock music that Mac liked, which would lead to another noise complaint from their asshole neighbours – or he could try something more subtle. It would mean eating breakfast, which was something Dennis tried to do as little as possible, but necessary sacrifices sometimes had to be made.

The pack of bacon in the fridge was two days past its best-before date, which Dennis pointedly ignored. Within minutes the meat was sizzling in a frying pan and the scent was wafting through the apartment, through to Dennis’ room.

Mac came stumbling in only moments later.

“Dude, you’re making bacon?” he asked, wide-eyed. His unguarded smile was almost enough to make up for the fact that Dennis wouldn’t be able to eat again today.

“Yeah, hangover food,” Dennis said. “Get out some plates, will you?”

Mac obliged without complaint. He descended on the bacon as soon as Dennis dropped some on his plate, wolfing it down – seemingly without noticing the way it must have been burning his mouth.

“You’re an animal,” Dennis sighed, and Mac grinned at him with his mouth full.

“Have we got any bread?”

“Ran out two days ago,” Dennis said. “It’s your turn to buy some.”

“Ah. Shit.”

“Yeah, you’re the worst roommate in the world.”

Mac just shrugged. “I’ll get groceries this afternoon. Still gotta sleep off the booze from last night, dude.” He paused to scarf down more bacon. “Speaking of which, um. I was wondering – what happened last night? Because I don’t remember, and like. I woke up in your bed, man.” His laugh was awkward enough that Dennis almost felt sorry for him.

“Don’t worry, your virtue’s still intact,” he said dryly. “You were too lazy to go to your room after throwing up and I was too lazy to drag you there. End of story.”

“Oh,” Mac responded, relief washing over his features. “So nothing weird happened last night?”

Dennis saw a flash of himself lunging at Mac in a surge of anger so intense that he grabbed the edge of the table to steady himself. Now wasn’t the time for a temper tantrum, much as he wanted to yell that Mac should grow a spine and admit who he was to the world. Or to Dennis, at the very least. “No,” he said at length. His voice didn’t waver. “Nothing weird.”

 

ii.

A couple of months passed in relative normality, and then it happened again.

After the disaster of a monthly dinner (only partially saved by seeing a man fall into a plate of spaghetti), Dee suggested they should go back to the bar and get wasted, to unanimous agreement. Dennis still felt _off_ , although he managed to smile through the annoyance that was bubbling all too close to the surface.

The monthly dinner was sacred, that was the thing. Dennis held it in higher esteem than he held most other things in his life: a symbol of stability and class amidst a life that was otherwise unstable and classless. The ritual had been around in some form since he and Mac first moved in together, when Dennis had insisted on getting dressed up at least once a month and spending time just the two of them. It had evolved over time, of course. They alternated who chose where they ate, even though Mac would always pick places like TGI Fridays and The Cheesecake Factory while Dennis chose establishments with a little _je ne sais quoi_. Over the past couple of years, Guigino’s had become a favourite of theirs – although Dennis was beginning to reconsider that allegiance after the shocking excuse for customer service he’d been forced to witness.

When they were alone – finally – in Dennis’ car, Mac rested a hesitant hand on his thigh. Dennis tried not to react as he followed the familiar route to Paddy’s, waiting for Mac to say what was on his mind.

“I…thank you, for tonight,” Mac said. “I know it didn’t go the way you wanted it to.”

Dennis thought back to holding the microphone and feeling like he was laying his soul bare, and he sank his nails into the palm of his free hand.  “Monthly dinner’s supposed to be about _us_ ,” he muttered – for once, not caring how it sounded. He was done censoring himself so that Mac would feel secure about whatever was going on between them.

“I know, man.” Mac’s hand was still on his thigh, warm and distracting. “We’ll just get wasted tonight and then tomorrow we can order pizza and watch, uh, _Iron Man_. It’ll be like monthly dinner 2.0, only we can wear PJs.”

Dennis appreciated the effort; Mac hated superhero movies and he preferred Chris Evans and Hemsworth’s physiques to RDJ’s, but he knew that _Iron Man_ was a favourite of Dennis’. Still, “It won’t be the same,” he said.

Mac’s tone was cautious when he spoke again. “And then there’s always next month, dude. Or, like, whenever.”

Dennis’ awareness that he was spiralling did very little to help the situation. Through gritted teeth, he managed to get out a quiet, “yeah,” hoping that would decisively end the conversation. God, he needed to be drunk already.

The rest of the ride to the bar passed in blessed silence, although Mac never removed his hand from Dennis’ leg. It was like he’d forgotten it was there – or like he thought Dennis had forgotten. Either way, Dennis felt its absence more than he’d care to admit when they got out of the Jeep, wandering into Paddy’s to find that Dee, Charlie and Frank had already started on drinks.

“What are we having, then?” Dennis asked, false brightness leaking from his pores.

Only Dee lifted an eyebrow at him; the other two never noticed when anything was amiss. “Whiskey,” she said. “Only I’m having it with coke, like a _normal person_ , while Charlie here –”

“There’s nothing wrong with mixing orange juice and whiskey!”

“Oh, gross, dude,” Mac said, grabbing Charlie’s drink and sniffing at it. After a couple of seconds, he took a careful sip. “Oh. _Gross_.”

“Yeah, whatever, man,” Charlie said. “I like it.”

Dennis rolled his eyes. He took the bottle of whiskey and took a couple of swigs straight out of it, wincing at the taste of cheap-as-dirt alcohol.

“Hang on, let me have some.” Mac was in his space, pulling the bottle out from between his fingers and sealing his lips over where Dennis’ had just been. “Dude, we gotta start buying nicer drinks. This tastes like garbage.”

“When the bar starts making a profit, then we’ll drink like kings.” Dennis watched the bob of Mac’s throat as he gulped down more of the whiskey.

It was at that point that Charlie said, “Hey, maybe if we mix the whiskey with the vodka it could taste better,” and the night took a turn.

These days, it took a lot to get them drunk – especially Charlie, whose body was so desensitised to various chemicals that Dennis was privately of the belief that he might be immune to poison. However, even they had their limits, and mixing hard spirits was a sure-fire way to get them there. Around the time that Mac decided absinthe and tequila could make a good combo, Dennis switched to beer and resigned himself to watching the chaos unfold around him.

Mac was lying across the bar while Charlie tried to balance shot glasses on his face, Dee was filming it for Snapchat and Frank had fucked off, presumably to bang Artemis in a dumpster. Dee’s hand was shaking with her laughter, so whatever she managed to film was going to be garbage and besides, Dennis doubted she had any friends on Snapchat. Her newfound love for social media was, in Dennis’ opinion, a major red flag indicating a mid-life crisis in the near future. He couldn’t wait.

“Hey, we sh’d play spin the bottle,” Mac slurred.

“Mac, there are four people here,” Dennis pointed out.

“Oh,” Mac said, “right. Okay, what about truth or dare?”

“What is this, middle school?”

“No, man, it’ll be fun! I promise. Pinkie swear?”

“Absolutely not,” Dennis said. “But, fine, we can play. You go first. Truth or dare?”

“Truth.”

Dennis racked his brain for something he wanted to know that Mac hadn’t already told him. In the end, he settled on an easy ego boost – with the bonus of watching Mac squirm. “How many of my sex tapes have you watched?” he asked.

Mac levered himself up and looked, briefly, as though he knew exactly what Dennis was doing. There was a clarity in his eyes, bloodshot as they were, that forced Dennis to look away. He examined the label of his beer bottle as he waited for Mac to answer. The silence felt weirdly charged – none of the others chipped in – until Mac finally admitted, “All the ones in the drawer. And the ones you hid under your floorboard.”

 _Shit_. It wasn’t Dennis’ only hiding place, but he felt caught out by the revelation that Mac knew about one of them. It was one of the places he kept the kinkier tapes – the ones where Dennis was stretched out and tied to the bed, or wearing women’s underwear, or –

Banging dudes.

So Mac knew about that, regardless of whether he remembered anything of the night Dennis had told him.

“That’s an invasion of my privacy,” he choked out.

In unison, the rest of them laughed at him.

“And what would the girls in those tapes say if they knew they existed,” Dee sneered. “You’re such a hypocrite, loser. Okay, my turn.”

There was a buzzing in Dennis’ ears, blocking out everything except the tangle of thoughts swarming him. It had been different, when he thought he’d come out to Mac on his own terms. This felt wrong, like something had been taken from him.

He felt a hand, gentle between his shoulder blades, and recognised at once Mac’s tactic for bringing him back from what Mac called ‘dissociative episodes’, because he’d skimmed a wiki page on the subject, and what Dennis called ‘having actual complex thought processes, Mac, I wouldn’t expect you to understand’. He wasn’t planning on saying it out loud anytime soon, but the physical contact did help. “Sorry,” Mac murmured. His lips were close to Dennis’ ear, and with every outtake of breath the hair curling at the nape of his neck was ruffled. “I didn’t think you’d mind. Normally you like when I watch them.”

Dennis shut his eyes. He could see why Mac – idiotic, delusional Mac – would believe that Dennis had _wanted_ him to find the additional tapes, like it was a game between them rather than a bizarre way for Mac to sublimate his homosexuality.

When he opened his eyes, he saw that Dee was attempting a handstand against the bar, skinny legs kicking through the air. She must have picked dare.

“It’s fine, Mac,” he breathed. It was easier than making a scene.

As Dee crashed spectacularly to the floor, Mac wrapped his fingers around Dennis’ wrist, tight enough to join his thumb and middle finger. Dennis’ pulse thudded in his ears. It was rare for Mac to initiate contact between them like this, but it happened more frequently when he got drunk or excited. For all that Dennis was perfectly in control of his body at all times, he was struggling with the flush rising inexorably to the surface of his face. It was too hot, that was it. Mac was like a furnace, all pressed up against him. Dennis didn’t move.

“Charlie,” he said, and his voice cracked in the middle. “Truth or dare?”

“Dare,” Charlie replied instantly.

This wasn’t a particularly desirable outcome, as there was very little they could dare Charlie to do that he wouldn’t do of his own accord on a good day.

Dee, still whining about bruises and her weak bones, butted in while Dennis was still thinking. “Dare you to sit on Dennis’ lap until the next round.”

Charlie shrugged. “A’right.”

“I’m on a bar stool,” Dennis complained. “I’ll fall off.”

“Make it work,” Dee grinned, which revealed that her endgame was precisely that.

Mac backed off, leaving bright white marks in the shape of his fingers around Dennis’ wrist. Like a handcuff, Dennis thought. “Good luck,” he grinned, proving to be just as much of a traitor as Dee.

“Right, fine.” Dennis grabbed Charlie by the waist and did a few quick calculations. “Buddy, it’s gonna work best if you sort of, like, straddle me and wrap your arms around my neck?” He didn’t mean to phrase it as a question.

“Kay, cool,” Charlie responded, unconcerned. He clambered onto Dennis with all the grace of a squid on dry land, and it was only by virtue of Dennis’ superior core strength that they managed to stay upright. Dee was giggling helplessly into her drink and Mac was laughing, too, quiet like he thought Dennis wouldn’t hear it.

“Assholes,” Dennis muttered, wrapping a supportive arm around Charlie’s waist. “Okay, I got you. Whose turn is it?”

“Yours, dickwad,” Dee said. “Truth or dare?”

“Guess I’m picking truth.”

“Fuck, marry, kill,” Dee announced. “Rickety Cricket, Liam McPoyle, Mac.”

She clearly considered Mac to be on the same level of repulsiveness as the other two, and Dennis waited a full ten seconds for Mac’s outburst about that before he realised that Mac was simply staring intently at him, waiting for an answer.

“Don’t worry, dude, I’m not gonna kill you.”

Mac laughed, too loud.

“I’m not sticking my dick anywhere near someone you’ve slept with, Dee, so that discounts Cricket. I’ll kill him, I’ll fuck–” He took a moment to steel himself against the words in that sequence. “–Liam, marry Mac. Of course.”

“You realise if you marry him you don’t get to fuck him,” Dee reminded him. “Those are the rules of the game.”

Mac and Dennis both spluttered protests while Dee waved them off with the bottle of rum she’d gotten hold of. “Of _course_ I realise that,” Dennis said emphatically, almost dislodging Charlie in the process.

Dee raised an eyebrow. “Alright, Mac. Truth or dare?”

“Dare.” Mac karate chopped the air to punctuate the choice.

“Dare you to chug the rum for five seconds.”

“Five real seconds? You don’t get to count?” Mac took the rum and turned to Dennis and Charlie, sizing them up. “Charlie, you count. Never trust a Reynolds.” He said it like it was a sage piece of wisdom people had been handing out for years.

Mac managed to down the rum with relative dignity, only spilling a little down his shirt. He belched loudly when he was done and slammed the bottle down on the bar. Dee reclaimed it with a, “My turn! Truth.”

Dennis paused to think. “Would you rather sniff Mac’s armpit after he’s gone to the gym or lick Charlie’s foot after he’s been down in the sewers?”

“You’re so…fucking gross,” Dee giggled. “I’d lick Charlie’s foot.”

Charlie did a weird victory dance on Dennis’ lap that almost tipped the stool over.

“Charlie, you next,” Mac said, without disputing Dee’s choice.

“Oh, I guess I can get off Dennis now?”

“I’m gonna miss you, buddy,” Dennis said, kissing his temple before he released him.

“I pick dare,” Charlie said. Dennis luxuriated in the flow of blood back to his legs.

“Boring, dude,” Mac said. “You’ve gotta switch it up a little.”

“Nah, I wanna do dares.”

Mac leaned against the bar and considered. He chuckled a little, awkwardly, and said, “I dare you to kiss Dennis for…ten seconds.”

“You wanna see that?” Dennis asked. It wasn’t malicious, but Mac flinched like it was.

“No! No, it’ll just be, like, funny. Yeah?” He turned to Dee for support and she shook her head.

“Tongue or no tongue?” Charlie asked.

“Uh…” Mac blinked, looking like his brain was short-circuiting. Dennis managed, magnanimously, not to laugh.

“Look, just c’mere,” Dennis said, standing and taking Charlie’s face in his hands. “Dee, start the clock.” He closed his eyes and leaned in.

Charlie was a surprisingly decent kisser, despite his comparative lack of experience. His lips were pliant and when they parted his breath wasn’t even too bad, although the duelling tastes of vodka, whiskey and orange juice made for an interesting combination.

“And that’s time!” Dee called out.

Dennis pecked the corner of his lips one last time and pulled back. Instinctively, his eyes sought out Mac’s. Now _there_ was a sight. Mac was bright pink, his bottom lip red where he was chewing on it and his eyes wide. He looked like someone who’d been caught watching porn, not a relatively chaste kiss between friends.

Dennis mentally amended his Mac file: Mac was attracted to him, _definitely_.

“How you doing there?” he asked, voice deceptively soft. He was just lulling Mac into a false sense of security, that was all. There’d be a time to strike.

“I think I’m gay,” Mac announced. Charlie and Dee, who’d been bickering over the rum bottle, went quiet. You could’ve heard a pin drop.

“Well, _finally_ ,” Dee burst out. “If I’d known getting Dennis and Charlie to make out was all it would take to make you realise, I would’ve made them do it years ago.”

“It wasn’t that,” Mac said unconvincingly.

“Oh, yeah, it was any of the hundreds of other gay-realization things that’ve happened in the last ten minutes.” Dee rolled her eyes. “So whose place were you wishing you could take? Can we make bets? Because my money’s on Charlie.”

“Shut up, Dee,” Dennis said, dismissing her entirely. “Just try and remember it this time, bro.”

Mac turned his confused puppy-dog eyes on him. “What do you mean?”

“Nothing. It doesn’t matter. Hey, toast to you being gay!” He raised his beer bottle in a mock salute and Mac bowed unsteadily.

“Hey, Dennis,” Charlie said, looking thoughtful, which was never a good sign. “You know when you were singing to Mac earlier?” Dennis went very still. “What was the name of the song? I’ve been trying to think of it all night.”

“You mean when I sang _you are the wind beneath my wings_? The name of the song is ‘Wind Beneath My Wings’, dude.”

“Oh. Makes sense.”

*

The next day, Mac pretended he didn’t remember what happened – but he was blushing. None of them called him out on it. Dennis went out to the back alley and threw a bottle against the wall, watching it smash into glittering shards with satisfaction. He didn’t think about how he’d practically handed the out to Mac on a silver platter. _Just try and remember it this time_. He should’ve known better.

 

iii.

“It’s just, you know. I’m _horny_ ,” Mac whined.

“So go jerk off,” Dennis said, taking another drag from the joint.

Mac sighed, flopping back on the sofa and addressing the ceiling. His feet were propped in Dennis’ lap. In this state, Dennis couldn’t say he minded being used as a footrest all that much. “It’s not the same.”

“The same as what?” Dennis asked. He’d lost track of what they were talking about, too focused on how heavy his tongue was.

“Someone touching me.”

An electric shock jolted through Dennis at the words. He choked on the smoke he was inhaling. “Mac,” he said on a cough. “What do you want, right now?”

Mac’s face was tilted up towards the ceiling. Dennis watched his Adam’s apple bob. “Want you to touch me,” Mac said, quiet.

Dennis could picture it. He could imagine taking a drag from the joint and sealing his mouth over Mac’s, sharing the smoke between them. It was easy to picture his hands trailing over Mac’s thighs, pushing underneath his shirt. At this moment in time, it was exceptionally difficult to remember why it was a bad idea.

“Goddammit,” he muttered. He stubbed out the joint on the arm of the couch and traced his fingers over the prominent bone of Mac’s ankle.

“Not what I meant.”

“I know what you meant,” Dennis said, cradling one of Mac’s feet between his hands. “And I’m giving you a foot massage, so shut the fuck up and enjoy it.”

“I don’t have a foot fetish,” Mac replied hazily.

“Good for you,” Dennis snapped. “Everyone likes foot massages. Be grateful, dickhead.”

Mac sighed and relaxed, allowing Dennis to work his magic without complaint. When Dennis pressed his thumbs into the arch of his foot, Mac let out a breathy moan. Dennis tried to scoff, but there was a part of him that ached to hear that noise again, and he redoubled his efforts, trying to remember all the things chicks had liked when he’d done this for them in the past. Mac made the prettiest sounds with the weed making him unselfconscious: little sighs of contentment and purrs drawn from the back of his throat. When Mac came out with, “there, right there,” Dennis felt like his body had dissolved into flames, like his fingers were leaving ashes all over Mac’s feet – staking his claim.

He remembered the Biblical story about the prostitute who washed Jesus’ feet. He wondered what Mac’s reaction would be if he brought that up now.

“You know my foot’s right next to your dick, right?” Mac said.

“Yeah, so?”

“So I can feel you getting hard, dude.” Mac grinned. “Maybe you’re the one with the foot fetish.”

“Don’t be ridiculous.”

“Maybe it’s just my feet you like.”

“You’re so goddamn high, bro. You always say the stupidest shit when you’re high.”

“Yeah, maybe,” Mac said. “You’re still hard, though.”

“Hey, can we watch _Seven Psychopaths_?” Dennis said, changing the subject.

“Why do you always get to choose the movie when we smoke?” Mac said, but he was already off the couch and loading up the pirated copy on their laptop.

Dennis sniffed. “Because I have way better taste in films than you. You just like whichever ones have the most shirtless dudes in them.”

“That’s not true!” Mac said, and Dennis braced for a re-affirmation of his heterosexuality. “I also like _Interview with the Vampire_ – that’s badass even though they’re, like, hardly ever shirtless.”

“Still about two dudes sucking each other’s blood,” Dennis muttered, leaving enough of a pause before _blood_ that even Mac could catch his meaning. The opening credits of _Seven Psychopaths_ flashed up on the TV once Mac was done fiddling with the HDMI cable, and Dennis patted the space next to him. “Come back here.”

Mac returned to his previous position, deliberately running a foot over the bulge in Dennis’ trackies. Something twisted in Dennis’ stomach and he tried to will his erection down; for whatever reason, it required a lot more effort than it normally did. Dennis blamed the weed.

“Just watch the movie, asshole,” he said, but his hand had migrated to Mac’s knee, rubbing soothing circles over the bare skin. Sometimes, he thought, Mac’s habit of lounging around their apartment in his boxers wasn’t completely terrible.

*

By the time the end credits rolled, Mac was dead to the word. He was snoring and there was an unattractive trail of drool hanging out of his mouth. In a moment of benevolence, Dennis decided to forgive him for sleeping through any part of the movie. They’d watched it together at least four times by this point. He slipped out from underneath Mac’s feet and briefly considered doing that thing from rom-coms and putting a blanket over him. It was only when he was glancing around to see if they had a blanket that he remembered it was summer, and 89 degrees outside. He left Mac to sleep.

 

iv.

In his defence, he lasted three entire days after the Dusty Incident before his tenuous control shattered.

“I know we said we weren’t going to talk about it, but,” Dennis said on one of the rare occasions when Dee was out of the apartment, “what the fuck, dude?”

It had been a good three days, too. He’d revelled in the return to relative normalcy and thrown himself into the ill-conceived scheme of the week (stealing travel books from charity shops and trying to sell them out of Paddy’s – as it turned out, there was very little demand in the word for books dedicated specifically to travel) and dedicated himself to not overthinking it. But then he hadn’t been able to get the sound of Mac’s fake moans out of his head, and Charlie and Dee were still acting all shifty for some reason, and Mac was doing a spectacular job of avoiding being alone in the same room as him. So: day three, he reached his limit.

Mac, who’d only just walked through the door, looked somewhat taken aback. He was still sweaty from the gym, patches clearly visible through his light grey tank top. Dennis had been telling him for at least ten years that grey was the worst colour to wear if he was going to sweat, but the asshole never learned.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he said, dropping his gym bag right by the door. Dee was going to yell at him for it later.

“Dusty,” Dennis said simply.

Mac’s best defence, apparently, was to feign confusion. He widened his eyes and spread his arms out defensively, palms towards Dennis. Sometimes he behaved like Dennis was a wild animal; it made Dennis want to bite him.

Dennis spluttered. “You – you were _pretending to bang that chick_. Does it not strike you as odd, that you would do that? Does it not strike you as – maybe – a _reaction to something_? Does parading her around in front of me – us – and calling her the love of your life not seem like a strange course of action to take?”

“Calm down,” Mac said quietly.

“Calm do– no, you know what, Mac. I’m sorry! I’m sorry about – what happened, and I’m sorry that you freaked out and I’m sorry that you can’t fucking admit to yourself who you are, but you know what? I’m getting real sick of your bullshit.”

“It was just–”

“When you were making those sounds,” Dennis said, stalking closer, “were you thinking about me? Thinking about my hands on you? Hm? About how hard you came for me?”

“Den, please,” Mac said, desperate.

“You don’t get to _forget_ , Mac. You don’t get to go find some hooker to try and make me jealous–”

“I wasn’t trying to–”

“Oh, sure. What were you _hoping_ to achieve?”

Mac raked a hand through his hair, and gelled strands collapsed around his face. “I wanted to prove that I could,” he responded, defiance in the tilt of his chin and fear in the shaking of his hands. “If you were jealous, that’s your problem.”

“That’s – not even close to the point. Don’t try to turn this back around on me,” Dennis snapped.  “Just say it. I’m not gonna tell Dee and Charlie, just admit it for me.”

“Why is everything always about you?” Mac sighed, pushing past Dennis to flop onto the couch. He spread out so that Dennis couldn’t sit next to him and his dirty shoes smeared mud onto the fabric. Dennis was left with no option but to stand and watch his little performance, which was fine. He didn’t need to be sat down for this conversation or anything. It wasn’t like there was some big revelation coming. He already knew Mac was gay: this was just about getting him to say it while he was stone cold sober. Or as sober as they ever were these days, at least.

“You made it about me when you begged me to suck you off while we were watching porn together, you absolute fuckwad.” Dennis took a moment to revel in the blush spreading over Mac’s face. “And never even returned the favour. So I feel like I deserve _something_ , at least.”

“I’m not gonna go down on you.”

“That’s not what I want.”

“You want me to say that I’m a sinner like you.”

Dennis raised his eyebrows. “If that’s what works for you. I was thinking you could just say a little, three-letter word, but if you’d rather make it about eternal damnation I can stick around for that.”

Mac dug the heels of his hands into his eyes, breathing shallowly. He was a dramatic son of a bitch, Dennis thought. It was frustrating at the best of times.

“You know what the funniest part of this is,” Mac laughed, slightly hysterical. Dennis winced at the sound. Mac’s laughs were always loud and exuberant, never like this.

“No, I don’t.”

“The funniest goddamn part is that I’m in love with you,” Mac said. His hands were still covering his face. “And I don’t even know _why_.”

There it was: an unexpected variable. It felt like Dennis’ brain shut off for a second, like all rational thought evacuated and he was just a shell of skin covering a void of nothingness. Without conscious instruction, his limbs sent him to the floor, where he clutched at the edge of the coffee table for support. The edges were reassuringly solid against his fingers. For a few interminable seconds, he simply listened to his heartbeat in his ears and tried to come back to himself. He hadn’t accounted for this. Strange, how he’d never linked _Mac loves me_ and _Mac is attracted to me_ to form _Mac is in love with me_. He gasped on a breath. There wasn’t enough oxygen in the apartment.

“Sorry,” Mac said, and he was looking down at him with concern, like Dennis was the one who’d laid his soul on the line. “I know you don’t have feelings.”

Dennis almost laughed at how Mac could see a man clinging on for dear life and think of him as emotionless. At how Mac would believe any of the stupid bullshit he said, just because it was him saying it. Because Mac was _in love with him_. “Can you open a window?” he asked.

“Sure.”

And this time it was Dennis who said, his breath still clogged uncomfortably in his throat: “This can be one of those things we don’t talk about.”

 

v.

“Well, I’m gay.”

Dennis liked to think he hated Mac more than he liked him, recently. It was a convenient explanation for distancing himself, and sometimes he even thought it was true. Objectively, Mac did a lot of dumb shit, like walking into boat jail and letting the door close behind him. Or only figuring out he was gay after forty years of being undeniably attracted to men.

Lately, it felt as though things were coming to a head. After their brief stint in the suburbs, the sleeping arrangements had been fraught with conflict. Mac vacillated wildly between refusing to sleep next to Dennis and refusing to sleep next to Dee, which meant they had to keep switching up who had the middle spot, a place both twins detested. Mac was a restless sleeper – which might have been fine with only two people in a king-size but was utterly unbearable when one was forced to sleep in close proximity to his flailing limbs. Dee claimed that Mac was deliberately kicking her. Dennis needed to have a serious conversation with him about personal space, and about how it was rude to grind up against someone – even if it _was_ in your sleep – and then leave that person hanging in a bed with his sister and an old man.

The first time the twins caught Mac saying – moaning – Dennis’ name in his sleep, Dee had gagged so hard she almost fell over and Dennis, who prided himself on never blushing, would admit to going the tiniest bit pink in the cheeks. It was, quite frankly, intolerable. Dennis was mere days away from a sexual frustration-induced breakdown (it was hard to pick up chicks, or dudes for that matter, when you shared a bed with three other people) or a killing spree.

But now here they were, and Mac was coming out. On a Christian cruise. And denouncing God.

Part of Dennis was loving it, watching the fragile shell Mac had built around himself shatter before their eyes, leaving someone new and interesting in his place. He wanted to poke and prod at this new model of his best friend, sculpting him like clay. Mac’s Catholicism had been, for so long, holding Dennis back from full control of him.

The other part of him was terrified.

True to their word, they’d never spoken about Mac’s confession. It was convenient for both of them if they ignored it: Mac could pretend to be straight, Dennis never had to confront an emotion for more than a couple of minutes, and life continued in stasis.

The boat hit something. Dennis grabbed for Mac without thinking.

Mac telling the gang he was gay was uncomfortably adjacent to telling them about his feelings for Dennis – if he even still _had_ feelings for Dennis. It had been more than a year, and Dennis knew Mac had been going to the Rainbow pretty regularly for a few months, partly because Dennis was on decent terms with a few of the bartenders there and mostly due to the fact that Mac sometimes stumbled into Dee’s at three am, smeared with glitter and pasting himself against Dennis’ back when he got into bed. For all Dennis knew, Mac might have found someone else by now, another place to direct the uncomfortable weight of his affection.

The boat stilled, and Dennis’ arm was still outstretched, reaching towards Mac.

*

It was around the time of the imaginary dinner party that the panic started to set in.

Not panic that they were probably going to die, which Dennis found himself remarkably at peace with, but panic surrounding the fact that, against all odds, he _wanted_ Mac to still be in love with him. It wasn’t that he was – reciprocating, or anything. It was just that it wouldn’t be so bad to give Mac some of what he wanted. There was Guigino’s, already, and movie nights, and if they could add regular sex to that it would be great. Having Mac look at him like he was his entire world, all the time…he could live with that.

Watching Mac giving his spiel about imagining food was the most at peace Dennis had felt in quite a while, which was of course what set alarm bells ringing in his head.

Frank was talking about some fantasy woman with big tits, and Dennis didn’t even think twice when Mac said, “that’s gonna force us to imagine things we don’t want to imagine,” turning them into a _we_ with nothing but a quick look.

Dennis said, “Ah, good point,” before thinking about what it meant, and he still felt slightly behind in the conversation when Charlie tried to involve an imaginary dog.

“We do not allow dogs in our house, right, Dennis?” Mac’s hand covered his for the briefest of moments – just a casual pat, easily passed off as platonic – but Dennis felt as though the back of his skin was crawling with electricity. The alarm bells got louder.

He thought about the suburbs, about Dennis Jr. He thought about every way Mac loving him was a bad idea.

“Wh…? Our house? Wh—why’s it our house?”

*

It transpired that openly gay Mac was just as frustrating as closeted gay Mac. This shouldn’t have come as a surprise, but Dennis had had some vague hope that Mac’s repression was responsible for at least half of how annoying he was. Maybe it was – it was just that as soon as he’d come out, Mac found new ways to be unbearable.

“Yes, Mac, a human pyramid,” he was saying, looking up at their only chance of survival. “All right, you and I will be the bottoms.”

“Why, ‘cause I’m gay?”

If they got out of this mess, Dennis was going to flee the country. He’d start a new life in Italy, with bronzed youths feeding him grapes while he reclined beside the glimmering Mediterranean Sea, and he’d never have to see Mac again.

He snapped, “No, not because you’re gay, dumbass! Because we’re the strongest.”

Normally, he was loath to admit that Mac was as strong (or even stronger) than him – he’d never lied about Mac’s disproportionate dedication to his ‘glamour muscles’, and when he went to the gym he spent most of the time leering at other dudes’ physiques – but on this occasion he felt it couldn’t hurt to acknowledge that even glamour muscles could come in handy when the situation demanded it.

He turned his attention to directing the rest of the gang while taking his position beside Mac on the floor.

“Okay, I’ll be a bottom now, but in real life, just to be clear, I’m gonna be a top,” Mac announced, on his hands and knees.

Dennis very narrowly managed to hold back from yelling. “Okay, fine, when you’re having gay sex you can be on the top! But for now we’re on the bottom.”

And in the end it didn’t matter, because everyone was panicking and impossible to control, and they were going to die regardless of how they tried to save themselves, because apparently Mac’s oft-repeated assertion that ‘God works in mysterious ways’ was true and meant that they were going to drown because of all their lust, gluttony, wrath, gayness and whatever the hell the other three sins were.

It was actually sort of peaceful, knowing it was all coming to an end.

*

Dennis knew he didn’t deserve Mac’s forgiveness for the thing with his dad’s letters, but he felt like Mac should consider that it was a little cruel to hold a grudge about it right before they were all damned eternally.

Without examining it, he knew that he didn’t want to die while Mac was angry with him. It didn’t matter _why_ , it was just one of those things that was too important to ignore. So he tried using the onion, and he tried reminding Mac that they were blood brothers – and the way Mac looked at him from down on the ground, water swirling around his chest, he knew that Mac would forgive him for anything. It should have made him feel powerful; it made him feel sick. He was almost relieved when Charlie pointed out the onion. He didn’t know how to deal with the alternative.

*

After they were rescued, Dennis felt numb. It was like all the emotion he could possibly feel had been wrung out of him by the events of the day. Distantly, he could tell he had a headache, but it felt like the pain was throbbing through a wall of cotton wool. He’d been staring at the same patch of wall for twenty minutes when Mac came and sat next to him.

“It’s gonna be cool watching _Titanic,_ ” was the first thing he said, “now that we’ve lived it.”

Dennis raised an eyebrow, weary with it. “Now that you’re gay are we just gonna be watching girly movies all the time? Because like, I can be cool with that, but we’re not giving up _Predator_ Tuesdays just so you can commit to a stereotype.”

“Hey, dude, it’s you who likes all that girly shit. Remember when you made us watch _Clueless_ , like, ten times in a month?”

“You’ve got to appreciate the _style_ , Mac.”

“Sure, whatever, it’s cool if you’re just into Paul Rudd.”

Dennis wondered if this was what their conversations would be like from now on. Skirting right around the edges of the issue, never facing it head-on. He could ask him, point blank, _are you still in love with me_? And regardless of whether he said yes or no, Dennis would shrug it off, casual, and turn the conversation round to snack arrangements for movie nights.

He was silent too long.

“Uh, I just came to get you for – we’re meant to be giving this interview thing? I think it’s the police or maybe some kind of boat cop, but the rest of the gang’s already in there. They told me to come and get you.”

“Yeah,” Dennis said, “right.”

He accepted the hand Mac offered to help him off the ground and went with him to face their judgement.

*

“Could you mark down in your report, uh, that I’m not gay? Because I’m not.”

*

When they got home, Mac made Dee sleep in the middle. Dennis didn’t care. It took him two hours to fall asleep.

 

& i.

“You’re not taking it back,” Dennis said, and his hands were under Mac’s shirt, and Mac was panting against his cheek. “You’re gay now. You’re not allowed to take it back.”

“I’m not gonna,” Mac gasped, bared his neck so that Dennis could bite it.

“Good boy,” Dennis smiled into his pulse point, feeling it rabbiting up and down against his lips. “You know, after legal fees, you’re only getting $14 out of that scratcher.”

“I don’t care.”

Mac had him backed against the wall of Dee’s bedroom, only a few paces from the bed. Dee and Old Black Man wouldn’t be there for hours. They didn’t need to be this frantic – they could go to bed, take their time learning each other’s bodies from scalp to sole. Neither of them made a move to do anything of the sort; Mac started palming at Dennis’ ass through his jeans and Dennis was working on mapping out every contour of Mac’s chest with his fingers.

They’d lasted a day. Mac had been so excited after coming out, but the rest of them had been on eggshells hoping he wouldn’t take it back. Dennis, in particular, had exercised a remarkable amount of restraint – if he did say so himself. He’d noticed the looks Mac was shooting him, full of barely-veiled hope, and he’d stored them away for later. It was crucial to be wary, where Mac was concerned. He might have been frightened back into the closet if Dennis’ advances were too overt, and then they would’ve been back to square one.

So he’d waited it out, told Dee to leave them alone in the apartment for the day, and set the wheels in motion. It wasn’t an elaborate plan, but there was beauty in its simplicity. Besides, Mac was a simple man – there was no need to set up some new, convoluted system just to bang him. Dennis just put on his tightest jeans (which clung to his thighs in a truly impressive manner), a shirt that Mac had once said brought out the blue in his eyes, and waited for the perfect opportunity to strike.

Actually, he hadn’t managed to ‘strike’ so much as he’d draped himself artfully across the couch, ready to say all manner of seductive things, and Mac had pounced on him. He’d never had such an easy lay in his life.

(Although, he supposed, it had taken nearly thirty years to reach this point.)

“Fuck, Jesus Christ,” Mac was saying, breath coming in desperate bursts. “Get naked, c’mon –”

Dennis fumbled with the buttons of his shirt, realising with a start that his fingers were shaking. Weird. He let Mac push the garment off his shoulders and throw it carelessly into the corner of the room, landing in a crumpled pile of laundry. Goosebumps were rising on his bare arms, even though it wasn’t at all cold out.

“You too,” he said, tugging at the hem of Mac’s trashy sleeveless shirt.

As soon as Mac’s chest was uncovered Dennis swooped back in, watching his fingers run over Mac’s abs with rapt attention.

“Dude,” Mac said, laughing softly, “really?”

“Shut up,” Dennis muttered, flicking one of his nipples as a reprimand. “I’ve had to look, for _years_ , and this is the first time I get to properly touch. Shut up.”

Mac did, biting his lip and giving Dennis the time he needed. It was strange, that Dennis had had Mac’s dick in his mouth before, but he’d never been granted the opportunity to really touch him. Unable to bear the sweet, open way Mac was staring at him, he bent to suck on his collarbone, dipping his hands just below the waistband of Mac’s sweatpants.

Mac’s groan was quiet, but it seemed to echo through the silence of the apartment. In one swift, decisive movement, he shimmied out of the pants and – of course, he hadn’t done laundry in weeks – there was nothing underneath.

His dick was just as beautiful as Dennis remembered it, and it was suddenly very important that he get to touch it again. “I’ve missed you,” he said, and felt Mac’s suppressed laughter from where his hand was still on his stomach.

“You’re such a weirdo.”

Dennis shrugged, pushing Mac over to the bed. “You’ve got a nice dick, dude,” he said, matter-of-fact. When Mac was lying across the sheets he climbed over him, reattaching his lips to his neck.

“Really?”

“Yeah, prettiest I’ve ever seen,” Dennis murmured. “You gonna fuck me with it?”

He felt Mac’s entire body tense and then consciously relax. “I – you want that?” His voice had dropped two octaves.

Dennis realised he was absently grinding against Mac’s stomach, an automatic, desperate search for friction. Mac’s hand was in his hair, gently tugging at the strands; he could come from this alone, given enough time. He pulled back.

“Whatever you want, baby boy,” he murmured. “You can do whatever you want to me.”

Mac gulped. Dennis tracked the movement in his throat with a smile, still towering above him. For reasons he wasn’t going to attempt to put a label on, he wanted to be the best Mac had ever had – it shouldn’t be difficult, since Mac’s experience thus far was with a gender he wasn’t attracted to, plus a few clandestine encounters (Dennis assumed) in dingy club bathrooms. He wanted to ruin Mac for the rest of the world.

“Okay,” Mac said eventually. “Okay, do you have, like, lube and stuff?”

“Mm.” Dennis allowed himself one more moment of scratching at Mac’s pecs before he stood on shaky feet to find the box he kept under the bed with his stuff in it.

There were a few things in the box: of the most current importance were the lube and condoms, which he threw up in Mac’s direction, but nestled beside them were a small assortment of vibrators, handcuffs, and nipple clamps. _Next time_ , he thought wistfully, not wanting to scare Mac off right away.

When he stood again, he saw Mac rearranging the pillows so that Dennis could comfortably lie with his hips propped up. It was thoughtful enough that Dennis bent to kiss him before Mac could get a chance to see his expression. Mac’s hands came up to bracket his face, thumbs soft on his cheeks. Dennis had never thought of himself as something to be caressed – worshipped, certainly, but there was something more intimate about a caress. He turned his face, peppering kisses across the palm of Mac’s hand before he sucked the index finger into his mouth suggestively. Mac watched him in absolute stillness, pupils blown out wide, until Dennis bit down to remind him to participate.

“Yeah, I got you,” Mac sighed. “Use your words next time. And lie on your stomach, babe, c’mon.”

Dennis wrinkled his nose at _babe_ but complied, turning around and settling with his pelvis pressed against the rough fabric of the pillows. His hips jerked forward at the first touch of Mac’s fingers, hesitantly tracing across his back. He stifled a noise into the back of his hand.

“You’re getting goosebumps,” Mac commented, spreading a hand over the swell of Dennis’ ass. “It’s cute.” Dennis felt lips at the top of his spine and whined.

“Get on with it,” he ordered, voice shaking.

“You could at least say _please_ ,” Mac grumbled, although Dennis could hear him fumbling with the lube bottle. “I haven’t done this in a while.”

“The general process hasn’t changed since the noughties.”

“Ew, dude, don’t call it a _process_.”

Dennis pressed back against Mac’s hand pointedly. “If you want to argue over semantics right now, go the fuck ahead. I can get myself off.”

“Nah, I got you,” Mac murmured, and then his slicked finger was rubbing around Dennis’ hole, little teasing circles that made him feel like a live wire, unable to do anything except push back, trying to get it inside him. He heard Mac’s intake of breath and felt, like a physical thing, the way he steeled himself before pressing the finger inside, so slow it was agonising. Mac’s other hand reached out to pet at Dennis’ hair. “That okay?”

“It’s _fine_ ,” Dennis snapped. “Move it.”

“Knew you’d be just as bossy in the bedroom,” Mac said, although he followed the instruction. “Right now it’s just kind of slutty, dude.”

Dennis felt a drop of pre-come well up and smear onto the pillow. It was humiliating, that Mac had him like this before he was even fully inside him. Dennis had slept with countless people; he should be able to handle his best friend calling him a slut. Swallowing his pride, he muttered, “please,” while resolutely staring at the bedsheets.

Mac’s hand tightened in his hair. “There you go, baby,” he said, and Dennis bit his lip so hard he nearly drew blood. “Tell me when you’re ready for another.”

“I’m ready,” Dennis replied instantly.

By some miracle, Mac didn’t argue with him. He just pushed a second finger alongside the first and began fucking him harder with them, accidentally brushing against his prostate enough times that Dennis kept letting little choked moans escape his mouth. He could feel the sweat collecting at the dip of his waist as he undulated against Mac’s hands.

“Stay still,” Mac ordered. He didn’t use that tone often, the one that meant he was really serious about something, but occasionally he brought it out when he wanted Dennis to eat or get out of bed and go to work. In this context, though, Dennis felt electrified by it. There was no need to cling on to control when Mac had him like this, sprawled out and desperate for his cock. He strained with the effort of remaining stationary, the temptation to keep rubbing off against the pillow simmering under the heavy weight of Mac’s instruction.

“God, look at you,” Mac said. “This is what you want, isn’t it? Someone telling you what to do.”

Dennis whimpered low in his throat.

“It’s okay, you don’t have to say anything. You’re being so good for me, Den. Here.” He tapped on Dennis’ bottom lip with two fingers of his free hand and Dennis sucked them into his mouth gratefully, allowing them to muffle the helpless sounds he couldn’t stop spilling out of him. “I’m gonna add a third, okay?”

Dennis nodded. There was a trail of spit running from his mouth, down the palm of Mac’s hand. At the entrance of Mac’s third finger, he shuddered and shoved back against his hand, trying to get them deeper. Mac made a disapproving noise, removing his fingers from Dennis’ mouth to hold his hips down. “I told you not to move,” he said.

Dennis, briefly, struggled against the pressure Mac was exerting, just testing it out. Mac didn’t budge, and the knowledge that he was even _capable_ of holding Dennis down was so overwhelming that he didn’t know what to do with himself, except choke out, “Fuck me.”

“Sure you’re ready?”

“As I’ll ever be, fuck,” Dennis moaned when Mac’s fingers brushed against his prostate, “just get in me already.”

As he ripped the condom open, Mac commented, “I bet you’re gonna be glad there’s no recording of this, but I’m not. God, I wish I could see you like this every day.” He grunted at the touch of his hand on his neglected dick. “I’d never get tired of it,” he said, and he lined himself up.

“You can,” Dennis managed to get out, just as Mac started to push inside. “I’d let you fuck me every day, Jesus Christ, you’re so good for me.”

Mac let out an honest-to-God moan at that, pushing Dennis’ legs even further apart so that he could sink deeper into him, nails biting into Dennis’ hips. “You okay?”

The stretch was almost too much to bear, but Dennis liked it that way. He’d feel this tomorrow; he’d be able to look at the livid scratch marks on his hips and know that Mac had staked some sort of claim on him. Right now, he wasn’t ready to think about what sort of claim that might be, but he also knew he’d do whatever Mac asked of him. It was the kind of exhilarating that he imagined one would feel at the edge of a very tall building, staring down at the rest of the world.

“Den! Are you okay?”

“Yeah, sorry.”

“It’s fine, you just zoned out a bit there,” Mac said. His hands were roaming over the tops of Dennis’ thighs. “Can I move?”

“Please,” Dennis bit out.

Mac bent to kiss the back of his neck, the tenderness in conflict with the slick slide of cock. He was slow, allowing Dennis ample time to adjust to the feeling, and Dennis could see the way his arms were shaking with the effort of it. He spread his legs wider, whimpering when his dick dragged across the fabric underneath it.

“C’mon, you can go faster than that, don’t be a pussy,” he mumbled, reaching back to squeeze at Mac’s hips.

Mac’s lips skimmed over his jaw, down to where his pulse was fluttering. “You’re a dick,” he commented, and Dennis thrust back, getting him deeper. The change of angle was perfect, getting the pressure right where Dennis wanted it.

“Fucking hell, right there, keep doing that,” he gasped.

“Shut up,” Mac said. His breathing was labored. “I’m gonna bust if you keep talking, just fucking take it.”

Dennis tried to laugh, the instinct to mock him almost overwhelming, but he couldn’t seem to gather enough breath to make more than a soft panting sound.

Mac’s speed was picking up, now, his elbows slipping against the sheets as he pounded in and out, sending shockwaves through Dennis’ body every time his hips slapped against Dennis’ ass.

“Mac, Mac, touch my dick,” he whined. He managed to raise himself onto his knees, guiding Mac’s hand between his legs.

“Christ, you’re hard,” Mac said, wrapping his hand around Dennis’ shaft. It was overwhelming – the few spurts of pre-come did little to sooth the roughness of Mac’s palm against the sensitive skin, but Dennis couldn’t bring himself to care when he could feel the orgasm simmering just below the surface. Mac’s concentration was too fucked for him to keep his thrusts in time with jacking Dennis off, and for moments at a time he’d simply forget to move his hand, too focused on chasing his own release. Dennis felt like he was hovering at the edge, skin practically vibrating with how close he was.

“Do it properly,” he ordered, voice shaking.

“You’re such a bitch,” Mac said, and he took his hand off Dennis’ dick only to bring it down on his ass, the loud slap of it ringing through the room.

Dennis choked on air, spine bowing forward and when, on his next thrust, Mac slammed up against his prostate, he came with a low shout. He collapsed down onto the bed, whimpering through the aftershocks.

“Den, Dennis, you’re so hot, can I keep going?”

He managed to choke out, “yes,” pushing himself back on to his forearms and meeting Mac thrust for thrust, even when the overstimulation burned inside him. His dick was still valiantly twitching, and it was both a relief and a disappointment when Mac’s teeth clamped on his shoulder to muffle his groan, spilling hot into the condom.

“Oh, fuck,” Dennis moaned. It took a couple more seconds for Mac to regain the presence of mind to pull out, tie off the condom and throw it at the bin. Dennis just lay there, face-down, his come drying on his stomach. He felt like he wouldn’t want to move for a decade.

Mac’s hand was hesitant against his shoulder, thumb smoothing over the bite mark he’d left there. “Dude, that was…” he trailed off. “I’m gonna go get you some water, okay? Stay there.”

Dennis grunted his assent and rolled onto his back, wincing at the mess he’d made of the pillow and himself. “Get a flannel or something while you’re up,” he called.

He stared up at the ceiling, brain dancing over everything and nothing. He was pleasantly sore, muscles already starting to ache. If he’d gotten this on tape, it would’ve been an instant five stars, he thinks, which makes his throat tighten up. Before now, having sex with Mac had seemed like a convenient way to get laid regularly; he’d never considered that Mac would actually be so _good_ at it. He couldn’t remember ever feeling so connected with someone before.

When Mac re-entered with two glasses of water, Dennis asked, “Do you still love me?”

“Of course I love you, dude,” Mac said. His voice was too casual. He was still in the doorway, as though Dennis had pressed his pause button.

“No, I mean…” Dennis took a breath, resisting the urge to cover himself. Somehow, this didn’t feel like a conversation they should be having naked. “Are you still _in love_ with me?”

Mac’s eyes were locked on Dennis’: roadkill in the headlights. Neither of them could look away. It was like a staring contest except the stakes were too high.

Eventually, “Yes.”

“Good,” Dennis managed, the single syllable heavy on his tongue. “That’s...yeah.” When Mac continued to hover awkwardly by the door, he sighed and said, “Come cuddle me or something, bro.”

*

They didn’t have long enough before Dee would get back, but neither of them cared much. Wrapped up in the covers, Dennis was playing with Mac’s fingers sleepily. On an impulse, he raised Mac’s hand to his lips and kissed the pads of each of his fingers. He tucked his now socked feet into the space between Mac’s, wriggling comfortably in the heat that seemed to radiate off him, ensconcing them both.

Mac cleared his throat. “You don’t have to say it back, you know,” he said. “I’m okay if it’s just a sex thing, that’s fine.”

“But you know I could, right?” Dennis said. Mac looked confused. “I could say it, sometime.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah.”

“That’s – that’s fine, too,” Mac said, mostly pressed to Dennis’ lips. His, “I love you,” was wet against Dennis’ tongue.

 

**Author's Note:**

> if your life is also being ruined by macdennis, feel free to hmu on any of my social media where my mental decline is occurring in real time
> 
> main twitter: [@davidfinchher](https://twitter.com/davidfinchher)  
> tumblr: [@lesbian-dennis](http://lesbian-dennis.tumblr.com)  
> letterboxd: [@davidfinchher](https://letterboxd.com/davidfinchher)  
> ko-fi: [@elliehopes](https://ko-fi.com/elliehopes)


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